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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



POEMS, 



BY 



MALCOLM MOLLAN. 




o.RlUjC ^ 



BRIDGEPORT, CONN. : 

MALCOLM MOLLAN. 

1880 



rif 



-?6?> 






Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1879, by 
MALCOLM MOLLAX, 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGB. 

Preface 5 

The Land that We Live In 8 

Poem Read at the Centennial Celebration of St. 

John's Lodge, F. & A. M n 

The Tree of Evil i6 

Struck Oil 22 

A Hundred Years Ago 36 

Poem Read at Burns' Festival, 1867 , 41 

Santa Claus 47 

The Current 49 

The Scape Goat 55 

The Dream 57 

Written for a Young Lady's Album 63 

Uncle Sam ^5 

A Barrel of Rum ^0 

The Sportsman's Call 73 

The Crab 75 

Robbie's Birthday 79 

News ^5 

Waterloo ^7 

The Coquette 9° 

The Life-Boat 91 

Fourth of July 9^ 

The Sleeping City 98 

Lines on the Death of a Little Girl loi 

Lines to a Lady io3 

A Retrospect » 106 

(3) 



PREFACE. 



Since Noah floated in the Ark, 

With all his living train, 
Good shipwrights many a stately bark 

Have launched upon the main. 

And literary builders great- 
Ingenious men of note — 

From days of Homer down to date, 
Have set their craft afloat. 

Some laden with the lore of Greece, 
With classic helm and spar, 

Some lovely, radiant ships of peace. 
Some mighty men of war. 

Some perished soon as on the wave, 
Though clad in armor plate, 
(5) 



PREFACE. 

Their strength and greatness could not save, 
Sunk by their very weight. 

Some shining brightl}' as the sun, 

Through every age and chme, 
Will gallantly go sailing on, 

Until the end of time. 

And now this little skiff I ca5t. 

Upon the pubHc sea ; 
Kind reader, 'tis my first, my last. 

Sole offering to thee. 

In fancy here the Critic's hand 

I see uphfted high ; 
With ponderous hammer at command, 

Her strength of frame to try. 

As though some mighty ship he takes. 

The builder's skill to test ; 
What matter though her ribs he breaks. 

He'll strike his very best. 



PREFACE, 

Hold ! Hold ! Sir Critic ! Drop your arm, 

And let your weapon fall ; 
You surely do not wish to harm 

A craft so hght and small. 

She is not built of timbers strong, 

Hewn all the world around ; 
Nor of the stately trees that throng 

The realms of classic ground. 

But of the twigs of tender age, 

Spontaneously that grew 
On my paternal heritage, 

Possessions small and few. 

Though weak her timbers, she may float- 

Her waterlines are true ; 
Then gently touch my drifting boat, 

This little frail canoe. 



MOLLAN'S POEMS. 



THE LAND THAT WE LIVE IN. 

While essayists and poets all over the earth, 

(To their efforts due honor be given), 
Show in love-colored pictures the beauties and 

worth 
Of the home of their childhood, the land of their 
birth, 
Let me sing of the land that we live in ; 

Of the land where our children to freedom are 
born ; 
Of the land that our sons will inherit ; 
Of the land which our daughters may live to 
adorn, 

(8) 



THE LAND THAT WE LIVE IN. g 

Where they spend the bright hours of their Hfe's 
sunny morn ; 
Of the land where we hope to be buried. 

Where the bright star of Liberty radiantly shines 

All illuming from ocean to ocean ; 
Where no victim of tyranny legally pines ; 
Where rich and poor travel on parallel Hnes, 

And no fetters are placed on devotion. 

Where learning's young sapUng was planted with 
care, 

In the soil the tree now has firm root, 
A blessing as free as our own mountain air, 
Its branches extending so far and so fair. 

That the lowest can reach to the fruit. 

Where high mental culture asserting its sway 

To refine and ennoble our race, 
Dispels by its radiance the mist in its way. 
As the sun in the morning turns night into day, 

Shedding hght on creation's fair face. 



lO POEMS. 

I would sing of her cloudless, ethereal sky ; 

Of her rivers and cataracts grand ; 
Of her ranges of mountains stupendously high ; 
Of her valleys and plains, and her forests near by, 

Her great wonderful oceans in-land ; 

Of the land where the blessings of nature abound, 
So conducive to comfort and health. 

Where the fruits of the earth arc heaped high on 
the ground, 

While slumbering deep in her bosom is found 
Inexhaustible mineral wealth ; 

Of a land disenthralled by her heroic band, 

In spite of invader and tory ; 
Columbia, the glorious, the bless'd happy land, 
Her sons ever bravely for liberty stand. 

Her daughters the crown of her glory. 



POEM. 1 1 



POEM 



READ AT THE CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION OF ST. 
JOHN'S LODGE NO. 3, OF F. & A. M. BRIDGE- 
PORT, CONNECTICUT, FEB. 12, 1 862. 

Swift Time, his restless pinions plies, 

And onward, onward, still he flies, 

Changing all nature's face the while. 

With winter's frown and summer's smile ; 

The works of art by man arranged, 

By Time's relentless hand are changed ; 

Kingdoms and empires own his sway, 

All passing or have passed away. 

But Masonry for ages past 

Has stood the annihilating blast; 

It flourishes in every clime. 

And prospers 'neath the hand of time ; 

E'en persecution's fierce crusade 

Was but a passing cloud or shade ; 



12 POEMS. 

When misled fury half the world, 
Against our glorious structure hurled, 
And strove to bend its upright form, 
Freemasonry withstood the storm. 

Like some proud rock, in ocean's bed. 

That — rearing bold its lofty head, 

'Midst tempests' rage, midst lashing deep, 

Aroused, indignant, from its sleep, 

While wave on wave in awful siege. 

Beats round its adamantine ledge, 

While thunders peal, and Earth and Heaven 

Seem in the midnight tempest riven, — 

Firm at its post, still lifts its light 

Till morning dawns, calm, clear and bright. 

Lifts high o'er ocean's dashing spray. 

To point where lies the seaman's way ; 

So Masonry shall ever stand 

A beacon light in every land ; 

From pole to pole, from East to West, 

Its radiance ever manifest, 



POEM. 1.3 

Its light down-beaming from above, 
Its vital warmth fraternal love, 
In wisdom, strength and beauty reared, 
And by the great and good revered. 

But ask you, why we eulogize 
This secret art with mystic ties ? 
Or how it benefits mankind, 
Or where its goodly fruits we find ? 
It teaches first, as well it can, 
Man's duty to his fellow-man. 
Behold, our banner floats unfurled, 
Benevolence to all the w^orld ; 
And Truth, that attribute divine, 
Upon our crest is seen to shine ; 
Justice, our every step to guide. 
While Friendship marches by our side ; 
And Charity moves in the train, 
The weak or falling to sustain, 
The Avorthy destitute relieve. 
And due assistance kindly give ; 



14 POEMS. 

Such is the march of Masonry. 
Now mark its great prosperity ; 
E'en in this httle lodge, our own, 
Just see how Masonry has grown. 
Revert we now a hundred years ; 
What in the distant past appears? 
An acorn planted in this soil, 
Borne by a zealous few the toil, 
And consecrated by the Power 
That sends the fertilizins: shower. 



'to 



A hundred springs their seeds have sown, 
A hundred summer's flowers blown, 
A hundred harvests have been reaped, 
A hundred winters' snows cnheaped. 
And has our little plant survived ? 
And to Avhat state has it arrived? 

Behold, this great and spreading tree ; 
Its numerous branches here we see ; 
And round each faithful branch entwines 
One of these fair and tender vines, 



POEM. 1 5 

This scene to beautify and grace, 
With many a fair and happy face ; 
And ever Ladies may yon he 
The warmest friends of Masonry. 

Another hundred years, and where 
Will we and Masonry appear? 
Our glorious institution then 
With our successors will remain ; 
And they will faithfully engage 
To hand it down from age to age, 
While we, our earthly labors o'er. 
Shall join our brethren gone before. 

May all assembled here to-night, 
Be guided by the sacred light 
To where we all shall meet again, 
And still true Masonry retain, 
Within that great, grand Lodge above, 
Where all is harmony and love ! 



1 6 POEMS. 



THE TREE OF EVIL. 

Stance things in dreams we hear, 
In dreams strange things we see ; 

I dreamed, and in my dream 
I saw a monstrous tree. 

Fast rooted in the earth, 

Firm as a rock it stood ; 
Its huge colossal trunk 

Seemed petrified, if wood. 

Ten thousand Hmbs branched forth, 

Of every shape and size ; 
Their leaves o'ershadowed earth, 

As clouds obscure the skies. 

Ten thousand kinds of fruit 

Upon the branches hung ; 
Some ripe, some over-ripe. 

While some were green and young. 



THE TREE OF EVIL, ly 

Some hideous to the sight, 

All baneful to mankind ; 
Dire pestilence they spread 

With every breath of wind. 

I saw the victims fall, 

Who breathed the poisoned ^^le ; 
I heard the sad refrain 

Of desolation's wail. 

I turned to one near by, 
And asked what all this meant, 

And what there could be done, 
The havoc to prevent ? 

" The Tree of Evil, sir. 

This old proHfic tree. 
Rank by its sap it grows. 

Its root is Rum,'' said he. 

" Draw near, and you will see 

That millions are at work ; 
Pagan and Mohammedan, 

Christian, Jew and Turk. 



1 8 POEMS. 

" With hatchet, axe and scythe, 
With two-edged sword or knife, 

To hew the branches down. 
They work as if for Hfe." 

And sure enough ! I saw - 
Good men of ever}^ grade ; 

Men of all professions, 
And men of every trade. 

Clergymen and laymen 
Of every sect and hue ; 

And crowning- all, I saw 
Good women, not a few, 

Hacking leaves and branches, 

Determined to arrest 
This monster in its growth. 

This scourge — this human pest. 

Though fast the branches fell, 
Still faster others grew ; 

And though all wrought so well. 
The workers seemed too few. 



THE TREE OF EVIL. 19 

For still the tree increased, 

Its branches spread the while ; 

And cast their poisoned fruit 
O'er continent and isle. 

While gazing on the scene, 

I saw a friend of mine ; 
A worthy zealous man, 

An eminent divine. 

A ladder theological 

Upbore him from the ground ; 
And like a son of Hercules, 

He dealt his blows a.round. 

I raised my walking-cane. 
And tapped him on the foot ; 

" Why not come down ? " said I, 
" And strike it at the root ? 

" You then will stop the sap 

From passing up the tree." 
" I never thought of that — 

That may be so," said he. 



20 POEMS. 

" But then you see, my friends 
Stand by it like a shield ; 

I scarcely could find room 
My ponderous axe to wield. 

'•' In striking at the root, 
If I should wound a friend, 

Twould make in life a gap, 
A breach I could not mend." 

Just then a shout I heard, 
That seemed to rend the air ; 

And turning round, I saw 
A sight that made me stare. 

I saw in columns strong, 

The Temperance Army come ! 

Some armed with pick or spade, 
With axe or hatchet, some. 

I heard the leaders shout, 
To cheer them on their way, 

" Strike for the root ! " they cry, 
'' The tree must fall this day. 



THE TREE OF E VIL. 2 1 

*' The root is labelled Rum, 

Strike ! where you see the word ! 

Strike boldly ; and strike home ! 
Bring down the thing abhorred." 

I saw the army close 

Around the deadly foe, 
I saw the foliage shake 

With each successive blow. 

The massive trunk leaned over, 

And glorious to tell, 
Down came the fruit and branches — 

The '' Tree of Evil " fell ! 

I heard the shout of triumph. 

That from the victors broke ; 
I cheered aloud myself, 

And shouting, I awoke. 



22 POEMS, 



STRUCK OIL. 



" Ah Fred, old boy, some years have passed 
Since last we met ; we meet at last ; 
These years how fraught with interest 
To you and me, and all the rest ; 
The rest I say, for near and far 
All felt our fratricidal war." 

" True, Dick ; yet here unscathed we stand 
In vigor grasping friendship's hand. 
While many quondam friends have gone 
To settle in the land unknown — 
A fate I narrowly escaped ; 
Kind Providence my fortune shaped. 
On many a battle field I've stood, 
And oft I rode through fire and flood. 
Now I will tell you my career. 
But first, your story I must hear." 



STRUCK OIL, 

" Well, Fred, I married ; that you know. 
'Twas just about ten years ago ; 
I then was young, and free from care ; 
To me life's morn was bright and fair ; 
And when another year rolled round, 
Two strangers at my house were found ; 
Wife called them angels ; but no wings 
Could I see on the little things. 
Though soon I found that they had feet, 
When Nell to me in accents sweet 
Said, ' Go and buy some boots, my dear, 
To fit these little footies here.' 

" Thus time went round, and I was then 
The happiest of married men. 
But changes came ; and in the race 
My income scarcely could keep pace. 
With family increasing fast, 
Each year's expense outstripped the last. 
Perplexed, I soon made up my mind 
That I some new resource must find. 



23 



24 POEMS. 

''Just then, a malady broke forth 
And spread like fire throughout the North , 
Its victims fell like drops of rain ; 
Twas called " Petroleum on the Brain." 
It smote me ; how I raved the while, 
Of flowing wells of precious oil. 
If I essayed to sleep, 'twere vain ; 
In dreams it haunted me again 

'' Now sailing o'er an oily sea, 
Now waves of oil roll over me, 
Now cast upon an oily shore 
Amid the oily billows' roar. 
My head with oil was so confused, 
Nell, though alarmed, was half amused. 
For when she called me down to dine, 
(So absent was this mind of mine), 
I answered, ' Yes my love, 'twill pay 
Ten thousand gallons every day ! ' 
And when she bade me hitch the horse, 
Said I, ' Oh, yes ! in shares of course.' 



STRUCK OIL. 

"The crisis came; and off I sped, 
With nimble feet and busy head, 
Myself with chattels to equip. 
And purchase tickets for the trip ; 
My mind was now made up to go, 
Come rain or shine, come frost or snow. 
I said, ' Good-bye,' and off I started ; 
Poor Nell was almost broken hearted. 

" Two boon companions went with me ; 
We formed an ' Oiling Company ; ' 
And very soon we struck — not oil ; 
But Pennsylvania's muddy soil. 
Away we went, with splash and thud, 
Now into water, now in mud ; 
But e'er we found an oily trail 
My comrades' pluck began to fail. 
For home they were obliged to start, 
With pockets light, but heavy heart. 

" But thoughts of wife and babes in want, 
Brought all my courage to the front, 



25 



^U POEMS. 

And bore me on till I ' Struck Oil '— 
A rich reward for all my toil." 

" Well, Dick, old friend, I wish you joy. 
I'm glad of your success, my boy ; 
But what a gulf it makes between 
Two men who bosom friends have been ; 
One turn of old Dame Fortune's wheel. 
Has made you wealthy ; while I feel 
That her rude daughter's hand is laid 
On every project I have made. 
And I must plod my Avay along, 
Amid the busy working throng, 
While you can in your carriage ride, 
With wife and children by your side. 
Respected and admired by all, 
Both rich and poor, both great and small. 
While in the social scale, your fame 
Is potent, and your honored name 
A passport to that circle grand. 
Where Fashion's votaries take their stand." 



STRUCK OIL. 2^ 

" Now softly, Fred ! Pray say no more ; 
That social scale is but a bore ; 
An empty, hollow, polished shell 
A gaudy, marble, springless well ; 
The hungry soul it can't engage, 
Nor can it friendship's thirst assuage. 

" These self-exalted creatures try 

To plume themselves with wings and fly 

Above and o'er their fellow-man, 

To perch on any height they can, 

And thence as though each wore a crown, 

Most superciliously look down 

On those who, better far than they, 

Are filling life's true destiny, 

*' But what I more than all despise, 
Is daily brought before my eyes ; 
The mean, servile obsequiousness, 
The toadying to caste and dress. 
That homage so profusely rained 
On wealth, no matter how attained. 



28 POEMS. 

" And, Fred, I'd have you understand 
One grip of honest friendship's hand 
I prize above the honors cold 
Enheaped upon my new-made gold ; 
And often, even now, I sigh 
For pleasures of the days gone by, 
When neither wealth nor poverty, 
Afflicted either you or me. 

" When with my home-devoted wife 

I lived a peaceful, happy Ufe ; 

When sweet content and social mirth 

Sat nightly at our humble hearth ; 

Our wants were few, our means, though small, 

Were adequate to meet them all. 

" But Oh ! the change this wealth has bred 
Has almost turned my wife's poor head ; 
Her wants increased a hundred fold ; 
Each want supplied as soon as told, 
But to create some new desire 
For something richer, grander, higher ; 



STRUCK OIL. 

A mansion furnished at such cost 

Our town cannot its equal boast ; 

Her dress, her jewelry and plate, 

Are equal to a fair estate ; 

A carriage and a prancing pair, 

To make the envious neighbors stare ; 

A liveried lackey with cockade. 

Top coat, brass buttons, tinsel braid, 

And all such flippery in shape, 

Old aristocracy to ape. 

" To cap the climax, nursemaid Nancy, 
With cap and apron ' a la Francaise,' 
Demurely glides along the street 
With foreign slippers on her feet, 
' To air the baby ' by the way ; 
In truth, to make a grand display ; 
While jolly schoolboys pause to quiz 
And wonder who her mistress is. 

" But here comes Nell, my stately dame ; 
To me alone she seems the same ; 



29 



30 POEMS, 

With all her vanity and dress 

I love her neither more nor less 

Than did I in the. days of yore, 

Ere wealth came knocking at our door. 

Now watch the patronizing air 

With which she greets that modest pair, 

And mark her self-complacent smile 

That seems to say, ' My Dick Struck Oil.' 

*' But, Fred, poor Nell is not to blame ; 
A thousand others act the same, 
And many of them, rumor says, 
Obtained their wealth in crooked ways, 
While many without cash or sense 
Are wealthy only in pretence. 
And some affect a courtly tone; 
Who owe for all they seem to own ; 
Like strutting daws in peacock's dress 
With pride and bills in great excess. 

'' But, Fred, this is a rolling sphere. 
And changes come year after year. 



STRUCK OIL. 31 

Though circumstances may transform ; 
Still man is but an earthly worm ; 
Yet viewed through microscopic gold, 
He's magnified a thousand fold. 
Now, Fred, I much would like to hear 
Your wild adventurous career, 
Your tilts with Stonewall Jackson's men. 
And how and where you fought, and when." 

" Well, Dick, my old friend, I am seldom per- 
suaded 

To talk of the days when the South was invaded ; 

It always induces a feeling of sadness 

To think how they fell through their folly and 
madness. 

' The fall of Fort Sumter ' is heard in the North, 

And freemen aroused from their slumbers spring 
forth ; 

A moment astonished and breathless they stand ; 

The crash comes like thunder — it shakes the 
whole land. 



32 POEMS. 

' Arm ! Arm ! ' is the cry through each city and 

town, 
*■ Our flag- has been humbled, by rebels pulled 

down ! ' 
I heard the appeal, and soon made up my mind 
If others would go I should not stay behind. 
I enlisted, determined to see the war through 
Or to die in defence of the Red, White, and Blue. 
Well mounted, I joined my command, and light 

hearted 
Away for the land of rebellion we started. 

" 'Twxre vain to attempt to detail our campaign. 
Our marching and fighting o'er mountain and 

plain. 
Our racing and chasing through fields of renown, 
Our advance up the valley and retrograde down. 
I tell you, friend Dick, on that charger of mine, 
I led the whole column, made excellent time. 
Old Ned shot ahead in that famous retreat. 
Well aware that the oats in the South were not 

sweet ; 



STRUCK OIL. 33 

He was good in a charge as the average steed, 
But on the retreat he was matchless indeed. 

" The last time we made an advance on the foe, 
No steeple chase frolic nor holiday show ; 
*Twas the jolliest kind of a cavalry hght, 
Where sabres and pistols were used left and right. 
What a cutting and slashing and bursting of 

shell, 
When the rebels came down with their terrible 

yell. 
We charged like a whirlwind ; they met us like 

men ; 
They wheeled, and retreated, then charged us 

again ; 
They fought with true valor their ground to re- 
take, 
But vainly they struggled, we forced them to 

break ; 
And when they gave way we kept pushing them 

on 
Until I had forgotten how far I had gone ; 



34 POEMS. 

When worn with fatigue at the close of the day, 
I lay down to sleep or to dream, I might say. 

" I dreamed I was back in my dear native town, 
All covered with glory, a man of renown ; 
Promoted and uniformed, how I did shine, 
As happy and rich as the lord of a mine ; 
But walking about seemed to make my feet sore. 
So I halted and marched myself into a store. 
I thought I was having my boots taken off 
In order to purchase a pair of fine calf ; 
But in putting them on I thought they felt cold. 
I awoke! And, Oh, Dick, your poor friend \vas 

sold. 
A barefooted rebel while I was asleep, 
In passing that way at m}^ boots got a peep. 
He stole them, the rascal, and ere I awoke 
He was off with his booty, the best of the joke. 

" Oh, Dick, had you seen my elongated face, 
Crest-fallen and bootless, I gave up the chase ; 



STRUCK OIL. 35 

But the rebels were whipped and our fighting 

was done, 
And a Uttle thin glory was all I had won, 
The sole recompense for my sufferings and toil, 
I struck for my country, while others Struck 

Oil." 



z^ 



FOEMS. 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

No steamships crossed the ocean o'er, 

A hundred years ago ; 
No cable stretched from shore to shore, 

A hundred years ago ; 
All freights and passengers and mails 
Were borne in ships with masts and sails. 
Propelled by heaven's uncertain gales, 

A hundred years ago. 

No railroads passed our country through, 

A hundred years ago ; 
No trains were regularly due, 

A hundred years ago ; 
No locomotive engine's scream 
Despelled the dusky hunter's dream. 
Nor broke his camp by western stream, 

A hundred years ago. 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. ^y 

No gas nor gasoline for light, 

A hundred years ago ; 
No stoves to burn the anthracite, 

A hundred years ago ; 
But cheerful fires of forest wood, 
Both warmed the house and cooked the food, 
And candles on the table stood, 

A hundred years ago. 

No factories were run by steam, 

A hundred years ago ; 
Of things like this they did not dream, 

A hundred years ago ; 
But many a rushing mountain rill. 
That always was, is running still. 
Was used in turning many a mill, 

A hundred years ago. 

No Wheeler-Wilson sewing machine, 

A hundred years ago ; 
No Howe nor Secor could be seen, 

A hundred 3^ears ago ; 



38 POEMS, 

But ladies' fingers, deft and light, 
Plied thread and needle day and night, 
To fashion garments neat and right, 
A hundred years ago. 

No iron clads were used in war, 

A hundred years ago ; 
To stand the cannon's crash and jar, 

A hundred years ago ; 
But ships of oak unclad in mail, 
And men of steel that would not quail. 
Both gave and took the iron hail, 

A hundred years ago. 

No detonating guns were made, 

A hundred years ago ; 
No breech-loader of any grade, 

A hundred years ago ; 
With flint and steel and priming pan. 
The sportsman or the soldier ran 
To bag his game or shoot his man, 

A hundred years ago. 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO, 

No steam engine to quench a fire, 

A hundred years ago ; 
No fire-alarm electric wire, 

A hundred years ago ; 
With tub and pan and water pail, 
The burning building men would scale, 
And fight the fire-fiend tooth and nail, 

A hundred years ago. 

No strife for office in our land, 

A hundred years ago ; 
A nobler strife they had on hand, 

A hundred years ago ; 
A strife against King George's might, 
A strife for liberty and right, 
An honorable, glorious fight, 

A hundred years ago. 

Our ship of State launched on the waves, 

A hundred years ago ; 
Abaft the binnacle no knaves, 

A hundred years ago ; 



39 



40 POEMS. 

But trusty officers and true, 
Led on a faithful, gallant crew, 
By precept and example too, 
A hundred 3xars ago. 

Few diamonds dazzled people's eyes, 

A hundred 3^ears ago ; 
Few counted riches millionwise, 

A hundred years ago ; 
Still some things are, as they were then. 
For there were mountain, plain and glen, 
And lovely women and brave men, 

A hundred years ago. 



POEM, 41 



POEM. 

Read at Burns' Festival, 1867. 
Immortal Bard, again we meet 
Thy honored natal day to greet ; 
Again we pause to contemplate 
Thy mighty genius and thy fate ; 
And I, though feeble be my strain, 
Invoke for thee the muse again. 

O, could I borrow Byron's pen, 

Or Campbell's poesy, I then 

Would write in honor of thy name 

A tribute worthy of thy fame, 

For never yet in poet's dream 

Did float a brighter, nobler theme. 

And apathetic "must he be 

Who would not twine a wreath for thee. 

For Burns ! the soul of love and truth 

And nature's poet from his youth. 



42 POEMS. 

'Twas Burns who by his inborn worth 
His manly pride and love of truth, 
Proved that a man of humble birth 
May be the peer, o'er all the earth, 
Of marquis, duke, and belted knight, 
Be their escutcheon e'er so bright ; 
From them the tinseled mask he tore, 
And showed in true poetic lore. 
That manhood is the solid gold. 
The title, but the empty mould. 

His genius, like the orb of day, 
Rose high on its unclouded way ; 
Rose like the sun, but has not set. 
It shines o'er Scotia's mountains yet, 
And casts its rays of light sublime 
O'er every land, to every clime. 

His maxims down to this late hour 
Have never lost their truth and power, 
Nor will they lose while thistle grows. 
Or Bonny Boon's bright water flows. 



POEM. 

From pole to pole, from east to west, 
His songs humanity have blessed. 
They bear of his own soul the part 
That finds its way to every heart ; 
From king to peasant all agree 
To honor Burns' poetry. 

The infant at its mother's breast 

By his sweet strains is soothed to rest ; 

The shepherd boy in hawthorn glade 

Repeats his songs to mountain maid ; 

The hardy fishers in their boat 

In chorus sing them while they float, 

And lightly ply the nimble oar 

As hopefully they leave the shore ; 

The Highland soldier knows his rhymes, 

And chants them in ungenial climes, 

And often in a hostile land 

They cheer his heart and nerve his hand. 

Far out across the pathless seas. 
Are borne upon the midnight breeze 



43 



44 POEMS. 

Those songs the Scottish sailors sing" 

While home's sweet memories round them cling ; 

And when the tempest-troubled deep, 

Aroused indignant from its sleep 

Its concentrated fury casts 

Against their bark, and bends the masts, 

E'en then a ready ear might catch 

Those strains throughout that stormy watch ; 

On land and sea, o'er all the earth 

Is felt the Scottish poet's worth. 

Ask what has spread poor Burns' fame ? 
Or why we cidogizc his name ? 
Or why this day we celebrate? 
Wherein was Scotland's poet great ? 

His honest candor from the start, 

His sympathetic, generous heart, 

His noble and exalted mind, 

His charity to all mankind ; 

In these our poet far outshone 

The brightest lights the world has known. 



POEM. 

Against oppression and misrule, 
And zealots of the olden school, 
He wielded satire's sharpest pen, 
To elevate his fellow men. 
Hypocrisy and cant he scorned ; 
His wit the festive board adorned ; 
Misfortune's stern decrees he bore. 
Through life to his expiring hour. 

He may in folly's path have stra3^ed, 
To right or left perhaps was swayed, 
Or steeped his brain in mountain dew, 
Or sinned as other people do. 

But who e'er reached perfection's shrine ? 
Save, one and He was man divine ; 
And in His words I here would say. 
Just '' cast a stone" at Burns who may. 

Upbraid not then for faults a man 
Whose virtues far excel our own. 
But try to emulate in part 
His loving, sympathetic heart. 



45 



4^ POEMS. 

And when another year rolls round, 
May all this social band be found, 
In harmony to meet and clasp 
Each other's hand in friendly grasp, 
And celebrate when it returns 
The natal day of Robert Burns. 



SANTA CLAUS. 



SANTA CLAUS 



47 



OR, LITTLE WILLIE'S DREAM. 

I DREAMED a dream last night, mamma, 
Now what do you think it was ? 

I dreamed that, walking with papa, 
I saw old Santa Claus. 

He had a load upon his back — 

A present for each friend, 
Of fancy goods a well-filled sack, 

That made him fairly bend. 

He stopped and laid his burden down, 
Then straightened up to rest — 

That all the girls and boys in town 
Might choose what they thought best. 

He drew forth queer and pretty toys, 

A most prodigious pile. 
That took the young folks by surprise. 

And made the old one's smile. 



48 POEMS. 

At sled and skates and hobby horse, 

I gave a wistful look, 
And then, mamma, I chose, of course, 

A pretty gilt-edged book. 

I saw papa so slyly wink. 
Old Santa blandly smiled, 

Said he, " My friend, I really think 
There's something in your child." 

Then, I awoke, mamma, and lo ! 

No gilded book had I ; 
The disappointment vexed me so 

It almost made me cry. 

And yet I guess 'twill be all right, 
Old Santa Claus is *'some," 

He'll be around on Christmas night, 
And down the chimney come. 



THE CURRENT. 49 



THE CURRENT. 



This world they call a wilderness of woe, 
Perhaps it is with some ; it may be so ; 
But, judging by some things we daily see, 
'Twould seem a world of happiness to me. 

True happiness first came to Eden's bowers, 
Where Adam held it but a few short hours ; 
When by his fall 'twas lost ; he saw too late, 
It vanish through the open garden gate. 

Then he and Eve went forth in sullen mood, 
To chase the fugitive as best they could. 
And all their children to the present day 
Have sought it each in his or her own way. 

Some by creating dynasties their own. 
Some 'neath the ruins of another's throne, 
Some by their conquests on the field and flood, 
Regardless of the waste of human blood. 



50 POEMS. 

One climbs the highest pinnacle of fame, 
Nor finds it there ; he merely finds his name. 
Some wearied ask in tones of deep despair, 
How can we find true happiness ? and where? 

No surer way to gain it is there than 

To benefit and aid our fellow-man ; 

All have a mission here ; some work to do ; 

Something unselfish, friends for each of you. 

What nobler mission is there than to save 
An erring brother from a drunkard's grave, 
His wife and babes from all the ills that come. 
To concentrate around their dreary home ? 

To make that home a home of peace and love. 
An emblem of that brighter home above ? 
But to reclaim alone will not content — 
'Tis well to cure but better to prevent. 

To warn the young, the inexperienced boy, 
And draw him from the dangers that decoy. 
See that young man his mother's hope and pride, 
Her only comfort since his father died. 



THE CURRENT. 5 1 

With noble heart and cultivated mind, 
Chief in a circle moral and refined, 
That youth was reared in opulence and ease. 
Now mark his course, observe him if you please. 

On yonder hill in manly strength he stands, 
W hile dissipation's stream runs by his lands, 
And pleasure's votaries gliding past he notes — 
Smiles at the antics of their little boats. 

Thinks strange that of the many who pass by, 
So few returning up he can descry ; 
Laughs at their failure as they fade from sight, 
Exulting in his own superior might. 

" They're weak," he says " who cannot stem that 

tide," 
Walks to the bank in all his strength and pride. 
Self-confident he now embarks to test. 
The gentle current and expand his chest ; 

Pulls a few strokes with ease against the tide, 
Leans on his oars and let's his wherry glide 



52 POEMS. 

Down on the treacherous stream with easy sway, 
Past flowery banks and fields of new-mown hay. 

The varying landscape and the perfumed air 
Allure his senses from the world of care ; 
The gentle motion and the blackbird's song 
Lull him to slumber as he glides along. 

Reposing now securely it would seem, 
Yet drifting surely downward on the stream, 
But not as slowly as when he set out, 
The current here increases on its route. 

Kind friends upon the bank, his danger note. 
They vainly throw life-lines athwart his boat. 
With folded hands the unconscious sleeper lies, 
Heeds not the lines nor hears the warning cries. 

But faster and still faster down he goes. 
The river here a turbid torrent flows, 
Rushing and foaming down o'er rock and shoal, 
Down towards the mighty cataract, its goal. 



THE CURRENT. 53 

The little skiff whirls round, now strikes a rock, 
Now wakes the sleeper with the sudden shock ; 
He grasps the oars, strains every nerve amain, 
Plies the lithe ash, exhausts his strensfth in vain. 



't5' 



Now drops the oars with a despairing cry, 
Now, grasps at osiers as he hurries by ; 
They check him but a moment, then give way. 
Downward he rushes at the close of day. 

And now the thunder clouds are gathering o'er, 
And make the darkness darker than before ; 
No light save that which flashes from the clouds. 
In vivid streaks, then darkness all enshrouds. 

Each peal of thunder crashes through his ears. 
And now the roaring cataract he hears^ 
Now in the vortex of the rapids tossed. 
Whirled round and downward, now all hope is 
lost. 

A moment more the precipice is passed, 
One stifled cry a fearful, plunge — his last. 



54 POEMS. 

And such is dissipation's fatal course, 
Once in the tide, who can resist its force ! 

Yet so seductive its aUurements are, 
Few in their strength expect to go too far, 
No man's a drunken sot when he begins, 
Tis by degrees the subtle poison wins 
His resolution and his self control. 
Destroys his body, and degrades his soul. 



THE SCAPE GOAT, 



THE SCAPE GOAT. 

Fallen from his lofty place, 
Fallen in supreme disgrace, 
Fallen prone upon his face, 

The War Department's head. 

Lower than the Indian brave, 
Lower than the honest slave, 
Lower than the Christian's grave. 
All hope from him has fled. 

Kick him now that he is down. 
Kick him, Grant, for your renown, 
Kick him, Senators, and frown, 
Upon the fallen man ! x 

Stab him, all ye Congressmen, 
Stab him, newsmen, with your pen. 
Stab him, friends and foes, and then- 
Restore him, if you can. 



55 



1^6 POEMS. 

Stone him, oh ye perfect ones, 
Stone him with the hardest stones, 
Stone him, never mind his groans, 
Let mercy be forgot. 

You, who never yet have erred. 
You temptation never stirred. 
You with conscience clear, unblurred. 
Strike home, and spare him not. 

Others may be worse than he, 
Others full as bad may be, 
Others steeped in infamy. 
May still be kept afloat. 

By shouting lustily, stop thief, 
By howling o'er the fallen chief. 
By holding forth in bold relief, 
Poor Belknap, the scape goat. 
March 6, 1876. 



THE DREAM, 



THE DREAM. 



57 



I DREAMED, and in my dream I strayed 
At midnight through the moonht street, 

Where mansions tastefully arrayed, 
Proclaimed wealth's favorite retreat. 

The night was fair, so very fine, 

My walk it lured me to extend. 
Until the city's boundary line 

I reached, and thought it there would end. 

I stood and gazed upon the scene, 
The glittering city eastward lay ; 

Westward the fields looked fresh and green. 
The moon shone almost bright as day. 

One field of all, that western view. 
Alone looked broken and unsightly ; 

I crossed the path, and nearer drew. 
That I might look upon it rightly. 



58 POEMS, 

When lo ! the sight that met my gaze, 
I shrank appalled and stood spell-bound ; 

There lay beneath the moon's full blaze, 
A desecrated burial ground. 

Here rifled graves, uncovered lay ; 

There heaps of earth, and skulls and bones ; 
With skeletons in grim array, 

'Mid ornaments and fallen stones. 

I looked into an open grave — 

A ghastly skeleton I saw — 
Nor could I leave the narrow cave, 

My limbs seemed paralyzed with awe. 

In terror I essayed retreat ; 

I shivered though the night was warm ; 
When lo ! that object at my feet, 

Assumed a living, manly form. 

He stood before me fresh and bright ; 
One gesture with his head he made ; 



THE DREAM. 59 

His eyes shone with a natural Ught ; 
His hand he on my shoulder laid. 

" Stand, stranger, where thou art," he said ; 

" 'Tis where in justice one should be, 
Between the Kving and the dead, 

To arbitrate this case for me. 

'' Long years ago my life I spent — 

A busy life of robust health ; 
On making a good name intent, 

And on accumulating wealth. 

'' Success my every effort crowned, 

A golden harvest I had reaped ; 
Of stocks, and bonds, and deeds, 'twas found 

I had a pyramid enheaped. 

" My work was done, my time had come, 

I heard and understood the call ; 
I knew that I must change my home. 

And wiUingly I gave up all. 



6o POEMS. 

" My acres broad of fertile land ; 

My bonds and stocks, m)- golden store ; 
I yielded all with open hand, 

To living man forevermore. 

*' All I reserved was this small spot — 

This miserable narrow bed ; 
Two feet by six, scarce worth a grot, 

The simple dower of the dead. 

" Vainly I thought I here could rest ; 

Thought this was ' consecrated ground ; ' 
Felt sure that nothing could molest 

Till Gabriel his trump should sound. 

" But oh ! the avarice of the age — 
The all-absorbing thirst for gold ; 

Earth's boundless wealth could not assuage, 
Though 'twere increased a hundred fold. 

'' And now man covets my poor grave ; 
From mother Earth he tears my bones ; 



THE DREAM. 6 1 

No living hand goes forth to save — 
No hving heart my fate bemoans. 

" All my broad acres though he holds, 
He thinks he needs this little spot ; 

The only reason he unfolds, 

' 'Twill help to make a building lot.' 

" Ah ! blush, good stranger, at the thought 
That thou in such an age dost Hve ; 

Now is this right, or is it not ? 
I pray thee, thy opinion give. 

'' No answer — ah ! I can divine 

Thy hope is to escape the grave ; 
The hope that from a fate like mine, 

Cremation, thy poor bones will save. 

'' I pray let no such thought prevail, 

Permit it not within thy breast ; 
E'en burning up will not avail, 

They will not let thy ashes rest. 



62 POEMS. 

" Some sordid creature yet unborn, 
To whom thy relics may be given ; 

Will cast, to steal the paltry urn. 
Thy ashes to the winds of heaven." 

He paused ; I stood attentive still, 
But not another word he spoke ; 

I felt a sudden heartward thrill, 
And as he vanished I awoke. 



WRITTEN IN A YOUNG LADY' S ALBUM. 63 



WRITTEN IN A YOUNG LADY'S ALBUM. 

I, IN this album write a line, 

To gratify a friend of mine ; 

A fair young friend whom I esteem, 

Her future hopes shall be my theme. 

Embarking now on Hfe's broad sea, 
Bright, joyous, may thy voyage be ; 
Fresh springing Hope will cheer thy way. 
And waft thee onward day by day. 
For youthful aspiration prints 
The future in most radiant tints ; 
But disappointments will arise, 
And clouds at times obscure the skies ; 
And even storms, most drear and dark, 
May surge around thy struggling bark ; 
For on the restless sea of life, 
Stern Fate's vicissitudes are rife. 



64 POEMS. 

But Hope, kind Hope, asserts her sway. 
She smooths the path and points the way. 

While crossing this uncertain sea, 
May God be very kind to thee ; 
And every earthly blessing- send, 
And guide and guard thee to the end. 

And when thou reachest yonder shore, 
The storms survived, thy voyage o'er ; 
Divergent though my course may be, 
May I be there to welcome thee. 



UNCLE SAM. 



UNCLE SAM. 



65 



By revolution's keenest throe, 
'Midst war's tumultuous strife, 

About a hundred years ago 
A giant came to life. 

The special champion born to be 

Of Liberty's fair fame, 
Baptized with fire and sword was he, 

And Uncle Sam, his name. 

This baby giant's voice was heard 
While yet in swaddling clothes. 

He shouted for his rights, nor feared 
To rouse his sleeping foes. 

When in supreme precocity. 
He from the cradle skipped, 

They sneered at his audacity 
And vowed he should be whipped. 



^^ POEMS. 

But high between the heavens and earth 

His banner he unfurled, 
The harbinger of freedom's birth, 

A boon to all the world. 

The people hailed with loud acclaim, 

The constellation bright. 
While despots saw with fear and shame 

The youthful giant's might. 

A war-like nation in her pride 

His overthrow essayed, 
But every thrust was turned aside 

By freedom's shining blade. 

Till weary of the bootless war, 
And weakened by the strain, 

She called her troops and placed them far 
From Uncle Sam's domain. 

This left our hero free from cares 
To peacefully disarm, 



UNCLE SAM. 

To regulate his home affairs, 
And cultivate his farm ; 

To build up towns and cities fair, 

And lay out acres wide ; 
A home his children all might share. 

He labored to provide. 

He wrought with persevering skill, 

In sunshine and in rain, 
Year after year with right good will 

Improving his domain. 

His family increased the while, 
And tens of thousands came 

From every continent and isle, 
To share his home and name. 

With forty millions to command. 

Unshackled all and free, 
His fame abroad in every land, 

His flag on every sea. 



67 



68 POEMS. 

He stands a giant now in state, 
And in his hundredth year, 

Of empires old and kingdoms great 
Is the acknowledged peer. 

With trust in him for future years, 

And in the GREAT I Am, 
We give a hundred rousing cheers 
For brave old Uncle Sam, 
Bridgeport, Ct., April 13, i8;6. 



A BARREL OF RUM. 



A BARREL OF RUM. 

GoOD-MORNiNG, Jones, I'm pleased to say 
You show a cheerful face to-day. 
What has occurred, I'd like to know? 
Your countenance is all aglow. 

Well, Neighbor Brown, I'll tell you why 

You see the twinkle in my eye. 

Two days ago I made a hit, 

That set my spirits up a bit. 

I struck a bargain in my line, 

A hundred casks of foreign wine. 

Also two hundred casks of rum, 

The very best, come see it, come. 

You used to be a connoisseur 

In wine and spirits, ale and beer ; 

I want your, judgment, nothing more. 

Come walk right in, this is the store. 



69 



70 POEMS, 

And here's the stuff, all paid for too, 
And Uncle Sam has got his due ; 
If 'twere not for such men as I, 
Poor Uncle Sam might starv^e and die. 

Now I will tap this cask at once, 

And you A^our judgment shall pronounce. 

No, no. Friend Jones, I'd rather not 

Give my opinion of the lot, 

But you shall take mv specs and see 

The rum as it appears to me. 

They're Temperance glasses, true and clear, 

And stronger grow year after 3^ear. 

Now put them on, and draw the rum, 
And mark the measures as they come. 

Jones donned the glasses as advised. 
Turned tap and thus soliloquized : 

Some smiling faces first appear. 
The insignia of right good cheer ; 



A BARREL OF RUM, 

Next laughter, shouts, and ribald jests 
By lordly host and high-toned guests ; 
Next blasphemy and oaths come forth, 
They merely represent the froth. 
A thousand headaches now come out, 
And next, a measure of the gout ; 
Debt, fraud, and social degradation, 
Now robbery and assassination, 
Now battered heads, a broken nose, 
Some tattered rags, but no new clothes. 
Now hunger, want, and desolation 
Come pouring forth without cessation. 
Now bar-room fights and drunken brawls, 
Now tottering limbs, some ugly falls, 
Some journeys to the pohce stations, 
Some losses of good situations. 
A case of scandal, and what's worse. 
Two cruel cases of divorce ; 
A will defective in the main, 
Produced by softening of the brain ; 
Two maniacs, with weary feet, 
Bound for the State insane retreat. 



71 



72 POEArS. 

A case of suicide comes now, 

And next a murder in a row ; 

A house in flames I now descry, 

And hear the helpless victims cry. 

The next a shipwreck on the coast 

By which a score of lives are lost. 

.\nd now a smash up of a train, 

In which some passengers are slain ; 

Home hres extinguished on the hearth, 

Cold graves of fresh turned mother earth ; 

God's image here on earth defaced, 

A nation shamed, almost disgraced, 

A desecrated senate floor. 

Enough, enough, Til draw no more, 

If in this single cask we hnd 

So much of evil to mankind 

Two hundred barrels I could sell 

Would make on earth a very hell. 

If Uncle Sam is mean enough 

To take the duty on such stuff 

He'll get no more of it from me, 

I'll keep your spectacles and see. 



THE SPORTSMAN'S CALL, 73 



THE SPORTSMAN'S CALL. 

Come, arouse ! Brother Sportsman, away to the 
wood, 

Ere the day-orb appears in a kiminous flood, 

While the grass is all dewy, each leaf undis- 
turbed, 

And the silence unbroken by the voice of a bird. 

Come, away, my old comrade, well beat a new 
track, 

Where the green briers bend and the dry bram- 
bles crack. 

Where the partridge and quail in close cover do 
he. 

And the migrating woodcock ; there, there, we 
must hie. 

There is naught to compare with the sports of 

the field ; 
No other amusement such pleasure can yield ; 



74 POEMS. 

With a dog good and staunch, and a comrade as 

true, 
I could hunt o'er the continent, travel it through. 

Not a mountain too high, and no cliff is too 

steep, 
Not a forest too rough, nor a river too deep. 
Jolly sportsmen such obstacles cannot disnia}', 
And with thee I am ready to face them to-da}-. 

Then hurrah for the mountain ! hurrah for the 

vale ! 
We will follow the partridge, and tumble the 

quail ; 
We will flush the fat woodcock, and hunt up the 

hare ; 
Come, arouse thee, my comrade, 'tis time we 

were there. 



THE CRAB, 



THE CRAB. 



75 



While poets are writing on all sorts of themes — 
Of the Moon and the Stars, of the Sun and his 

beams, 
Of the Sky with its clouds and ethereal blue, 
Of things that are old and things that are new, 
Of Mountain and Valley and Forest and Plain ; 
Of Love in a cottage, a palace or lane, 
Of Royalty, Loyalty, Glory and War, 
Of things that are near us and things that are far, 
Of the birds of the air or the fish in the sea. 
Of the innocent lamb or the laboring bee. 
Of all sorts of pets such as Rover or Tab ; 
Now who ever wrote of the Lobster or Crab ? 

Poor Crabbie ! So ugly in figure and face, 
Not one line of beauty on him you can trace ; 
His prominent features ; his great horny eyes ; 
He walks not ; he swims not ; he hops not, nor 
flies. 



76 POEMS. 

But sideways he paddles away with his flippers, 
And carries for weapons a huge pair of nippers. 
There's no one to love him except when he's 

boiled, 
And then people grumble and say he is spoiled 
In the cooking ; or, that he's so full of bones, 
A hungry man might as well dine upon stones. 
Pcjor Grabble ! All see him in just such a light 
Now let us turn o\'er and \'iew him aright. 

The first and best thing we can say in his praise — 
He is a teetotaler; sober alwa3's ; 
He drinks nothing stronger than water and salt. 
You could not induce him to tamper with malt. 
That he's a philanthropist 3'ou will soon see — 
Now every teetotaler is that, or should be. 

When one of his kind is disabled or sick, 
He pounces on him, ever ready and quick ; 
Not to crush and destroy him as some people do, 
But to nurse and protect him and fight for him 
too. 



THE CRAB. yy 

All experienced fishermen know the fact well, 
That a crab periodically casts off his shell ; 
This leaves him defenceless— a soft, easy prey 
To all sorts of prowlers that come in his way. 
The sly, skulking bass, ever ready to grab 
And devour with a reUsh the poor shedder Crab, 
Keeps aloof when the noble protector is near, 
His rapacity yields to the force of his fear. 
His fears are well grounded, for right well he 

knows, 
That rather than yield his weak friend to his foes. 
The crab like the bravest of heroes will fight 
To the death in the cause of the weak against 

might. 
Now, if this Httle creature, so humble and low, 
This magnanimous trait in his nature can show, 
Where, where is yoixr boast, oh ye '' Lords of 

Creation ? " 
Do ye equally strive for another's salvation ? 
Do you lift up the fallen, the weak, and the sick? 
And while he is down never give him a kick? 



^g POEMS. 

Do you grasp with true kindness his tremulous 

hand, 
And when he is tottering assist him to stand ? 
His poor heavy heart do you comfort and cheer, 
By whispering encouraging words in his ear ? 
In short ; do you do all you possibly can 
To assist and encourage your poor fellow-man ? 

If so, you're engaged in a glorious cause, 

And whatever betides never falter or pause ; 

Let the cowardly tremble who dread the affray; 

Let the recreant waver, his arms cast away ; 

While the Tcm[)erance Army with banners un- 
furled, 

In the cause of Humanity faces the world. 

Together we're fighting the same common foe, 

And shoulder to shoulder in battle we go ; 

No strife in our midst except true emulation. 

Who hardest can work for the drunkard's salva- 
tion. 



ROBBIE 'S BIR THDA V. 79 

ROBBIE'S BIRTHDAY. 

READ AT burns' FESTIVAL, 1875. 

Behold the rapid flight of years 

On Time's swift, restless wings ; 
Look at the griefs, the hopes, the fears, 
The disappointments, joys and tears- 
Life's variegated things ! 

All floating down on Time's swift tide, 

ImpeUed by latent force ; 
They pause not as they onward glide, 
Nor can we from them turn aside. 

Nor check them in their course. 

And we have met, year after year, 

With changes by the way ; 
To-night we miss some friends most dear, 
Who had they lived would have been here, 

To celebrate this day. 



80 POEMS. 

But why do I digress so long? 

Why cast a shade of sorrow ? 
I'll change the tenor of my song — 
To mar your pleasure would be wrong- 

'Twere folly, grief to borrow. 



In seventeen hundred fift3'-nine 

A baby boy was born. 
He came into this world to shine, 

With naught him to adorn ; 

A naked, little, squalling elf, 

A chubby, rosy lad — 
The very image of himself, 

And also of his dad ! 



The women of the neighborhood 
Came flocking in to see 

This little sprig of babyhood — 
This man that was to be. 



ROBBIE ' S BIR THDA V. 8 1 

And one admired his mouth, so small, 

While one admired his nose ; 
But they admired him, one and all, 

From top-knot down to toes ! 

One said : " He looked so meek and grave 

He'd make a pure divine," 
Another said : " A lawyer, knave, 

Or something in THAT Hne." 

One said she had " no doubt but he 

Was cut out for a doctor ; " 
Another said : " Perhaps he'll be 

A guager or a proctor." 

One said she '' almost dared to bet 

The lad would make a poet ! " 
It never has been found out yet 

How she came to know it ! 
Dame Clover said : '' I think he'll be 

A ploughboy, honest, strong ; 
And that's just what I'd like to see 

If I should hve so long." 



82 POEMS. 

Miss Primrose said : " Talk as 3^ou please, 

And fix it as you can ; 
But you may set your mind at ease, 

He'll be a lady's man." 

In walked, just then, proud as a lord, 

The father of the boy ; 
The ladies, all with one accord, 

Began to wish him joy ! 

Said they : " What do you mean to do 
With him? " lie asked his dame. 

She answered : " Christen him, you know- 
And Robert is his name." 



And now to fair Scotia's famed land let us go — 
O'er her mountains in fancy we roam 

To the vale where the Doon's limpid waters still 
flow 
By the place that poor Burns called his home. 



ROBBIE '5 BIR TIIDA Y. 83 

We view the rude cot where, in poverty's chain?, 
The young peasant bard passed his first days, 

'Till genius burst forth in his love-inspired strains, 
As Mount ^Etna in volcanic blaze. 

We hear his sweet songs that have spread o'er 
the earth 
Far and wide as the sunlight of heaven, 
And all stand amazed that such genius and 
worth 
To a man of his grade should be given. 

We mark the true lessons he taught to mankind ; 

By his WORTH, not by gold, man he weighed, 
And in his own person, by his mighty mind. 

His theory a maxim he made. 

The whip of satire round the heads he would 
wield 
Of such zealots as came m his path ; 



84 POEMS. 

No titles or wealth, petty tyrants could shield, 
Nor secure from the scouro^c of his wrath. 

On festive occasions his wit was the light 
That adorned and enlivened the scene, 

For it shone like the stars that illuminate night 
Through a skv that is cloudless, serene. 

Poor 1-lobert in folly's smooth path may have 
strayed — 

May have sinned, just as other men do — 
But failings and faults at his door that were laid 

Are humanity's heritage true ! 

Then over his foibles and errors of head, 

The broad mantle (jf charity cast ; 
Let them silently rest in the grave with the dead, 

While his lame and true maxims shall last. 



NEWS. 



NEWS 



Ho ! tell it throughout Bridgeport, tell ; 
Let Stratford know the fact as well ; 
Proclaim it on the Milford shore, 
Then fly inland and tell it o'er ; 
To Huntington the news impart, 
For Trumbull and Monroe then start ; 
Announce the word in Amblersville, 
And let it echo up Long Hill ; ■ 
To Stepney take an early flight, 
On Newtown's lovely hill alight ; 
Up the Housatonic valley spread it. 
Till every living soul has read it ; 
Then turn again down to the coast — 
Let not a moment's time be lost ; 
Report it to the Wesportite, 
And then to Southport take your flight ; 
At Fairfield publish the good news ; 
Then fly to Black Rock if you choose. 



86 POEMS. 

Thunder it o'er each railroad track, 
From Hahfax to Hackensack 
Spread, Oh ! spread the joyful truth- 
" The darling baby's got a tooth ! ! " 



WA TERLOO, Zj 



WATERLOO. 



Not where the great Napoleon brought 

His legions to the field ; 
Not where his last great fight he fought, 
And where he confidently thought 

To make Sir Arthur yield ! 

Not where the fiery cuirassiers 

Charged on the bristhng steel, 
Where hght dragoons, with levelled spears, 
Rode through the fire and smoke with cheers ! 

The loeman's strength to feel. 

Not where the British columns stood, 

And waited for the shock ! 
With crest erect, though stained with blood, 
They bore the steel and leaden flood. 

Unflinching as a rock ! 



88 POEMS. 

Not where the stout old Bkichcr found 
The Frenchmen file and rank, 
And led his sturdy Prussians round 

To take advantage of the ground, 
And strike them on the flank ! 

Not where the struggling man and horse 

AVcrc borne down side by side ! 
Wiicrc fleeing chargers in their course 
Trod iron-hoofed on maiu' a corpse 
Of those that day who died ! 

But where the beauteous Cedar flows 
Through IMackhawk on its way, 

Through sununer's \erdure, winter's snows, 

Forever, ever, onward goes, 
Nor pauses night nor day. 

Where on the banks of that bright stream, 

A town a})pcars in view ; 
A magic city it would seem, 



WA TERLOO. 89 

The bright creation of a dream, 
A peaceful Waterloo !* 

Where British, French, and Prussians stand. 

Not in the bloody fray. 
But side by side with ready hand, 
To ply the mill or till the land, 

In union's firm array. 

Beneath our glorious Stripes and Stars, 

In freedom's peace they dwell ; 
No longer hireling serfs of Mars, 
Nor forced into monarchial wars. 

An Empire's host to swell ! 

But ready should a war unsought, 

Our flag unfurl anew, 
With patriotic fervor fraught, 
To fight as erst their fathers fought 

At far-famed Waterloo ! 

* Waterloo is a city built on the banks of the Cedar River, in 
Blackhawk County, Iowa. 



90 



POEMS, 



COQUETTE. 

Little, trifling, pert coquette, 
Dost thou think 1 love thee yet? 
Love thee ? who could cast away 
A heart to-morrow won to-day. 
Love thee ? thoui^h thou tricst each wile, 
Thy sweetest song, thy blandest smile, 
To charm, to sting, then mark the pain, 
And try to charm — to sting again. 
Love thee? though full well I know 
Thou'rt flirting with another beau. 
Little, trifling, pert coquette, 
Dost thou thnik I love thee yet ? 



THE LIFE BOAT. 9 1 



THE LIFE BOAT. 



READ AT THE I2TH ANNIVERSARY OF PEQUON- 
NOCK LODGE, I. O. G. T., OF BRIDGEPORT. 

'Tis midnight ; and darkness is spread o'er the 

sea, 
While soul-freighted ships, with a shore on the 

lea, 
Lie storm-tossed and helpless— surrounded by 

rocks. 
The wind in its fury their hopelessness mocks. 
And now and again a bark is o'erwhelmed ; 
Her Hghts are extinguished, her rudder un- 

helmed ; 
Impelled by the current direct to the reef. 
The waves and the tempest preventing reUef, 
Till she strikes with a crash, reels back and goes 

down, 
Consigning her crew to the breakers to drown. 



92 POEMS. 

Thus, bark after bark is engulfed in the wave, 
And men are left struggling; who is there to 

save ? 
Oh, had we a surf-boat, to dash through the 

spray. 
We might snatch from the demon his coveted 

prey. 
But look I through the mist, where the sun's 

early light 
Is dispelling the darkness and gloom of the night ; 
A Life Boat they launch from a point on the 

coast, 
Though all arc m danger, yet all are not lost. 
In this Boat the constructors true wisdom re- 
veal — 
Thev have Faith in her timbers and Hope in her 

keel ; 
The} plank her with Charity, stainless and clear, 
Her name is Pequonnock ; her haven is here ; 
Her crew are well chosen — they're loyal and 

brave. 
In one common brotherhood banded to save. 



THE LIFE BOA T. 93 

Now mark with what vigor they bend to the oar, 
As their Ufe-saving shallop darts forth from the 

shore ; 
United their efforts, their strokes are all true, 
Pequonnock no laggard can brook in her crew. 
Now watch her career as she forces her way, 
In danger undaunted through breakers and spray. 

Now borne on the crest of a mountainous billow ; 
Now swayed by the storm like the branch of a 

willow ; 
But forward, still forward, no halting for breath, 
Her crew are intent on the rescue from death. 
And now the wild cry of despair they can hear, 
And the howl of the tempest is lost to the ear ; 
And now within reach of a perishing brother. 
They grasp him, they save him, then pull for 

another. 
Thus, struggHng, they rescue all whom they can 

reach. 
Then freighted with saved ones, they steer for 

the beach. 



Q4 POEMS. 

And thus the Pequonnock has labored for years, 
With varied successes her record appears ; 
Now trimly and lightly she glides o'er her course, 
Now tossed in the breakers and checked by their 

force. 
Half sunk by the weight of the billows she takes. 
Now an effort to shake off the burden she makes ; 
While villainous wreckers, with jeer and with 

frown, 
Cry, Watch the Pequonnock ! We'll see her go 

down. 



The crew say — ''No, never! We'll keep her 

afloat ; 
All hands to the rescue ! Come ! Bail out the 

boat ! " 
One bails with a bucket, and one with a pan, 
Each member does all that he possibly can ; 
No help from spectators, in concert they work, 
Till the last drop is out, and she floats like a cork. 



THE LIFE BOA T. 95 

Now firmly repaired and adorned with true 

beauty, 
Again she goes forth on the sea of her duty ; 
New strength at the oars, at the helm a fresh 

hand, 
A captain renowned for his zeal in command. 

Twelve years since they launched her, and still 

she's afloat, 
A rehable, seaworthy, soul-saving boat ; 
May her crew in their efforts in future be blessed, 
May they finally land where the weary find rest; 
And still may Pequonnock dance over the wave, 
While there's storm on the coast, or a brother to 

save. 



g6 POEMS, 



FOURTH OF JULY. 

In these halcyon days while prosperity smiles, 

And our commerce extends to the world's dis- 
tant isles, 

While the flag- of our Union waves proudly and 
free, 

Oh forget not, neglect not, our great jubilee. 

Commemorate proudly the deeds of that band 
Who won and bequeathed us this free, happy 

land, 
A land fertilized by the blood of the brave. 
And adorned by full many a patriot's grave, 

Stir up the live coals in your smouldering fires, 
Be united in peace as in war were your sires, 
Then political strife and sectarian spleen 
For a season shall pause, overwhelmed by the 
scene. 



FO UR TH OF JUL V. 97 

Let the gong of the workshop be hushed for a 

day, 
Let the laborer rest without stopping his pay, 
Let the citizen soldier parade with his gun, 
Let the boy have his toot-horn, his crackers, his 

fun. 

Let the sound of rejoicing be borne on the gale, 
From our cities and towns over mountain and 

vale. 
North and South, East and West, our whole 

country should be 
Re-united, proclaiming our great jubilee. 



98 POEMS, 



THE SLEEPING CITY. 

In silence a People lay tranquilly sleeping — 

Security seemed o'er the city to reign ; 
But a few of the faithful their vigils were keep- 
in cr 

At their post and on duty resolved to remain. 

Meanwhile the destroyer was sapping and mining 

Society's citadel to overthrow ; 
Her life-giving fountains polluting and poisoning, 

To home circles bringing both sorrow and 
woe. 

In vain did the watchers the danger discover ; 

In vain they attempted the sleepers to wake ; 
The alarm bell was sounded, and over and over 

They shouted and called for Humanity's sake. 



THE SLEEPING CITY. 99 

Unconscious of danger, the sleepers lay dream- 
ing 
Of peace and prosperity, honor or fame ; 
While the foe closed around them, his watch- 
fires red gleaming, 
As onward intent on destruction he came. 

But hark! In the distance the cannon are 
thundering, 
The rescuing army is forcing its way ; 
And while our brave watchers are cheering and 
wondering. 
The vanguard has entered, the foe's in dismay. 

And now our brave soldiers the city are shaking, 
With gu-ns that are pouring forth thunder and 
Hght ; 
The sleepers, aroused from their dreams, are 

awaking. 
And donning their armor to join in the fight. 



lOO POEMS. 

May strength from on High to our warriors be 
given, 
To conquer this mighty — this treacherous foe ; 
The demon of Alcohol, forth must be driven — 
Hurled down to the realm of his brother 
below. 



ON THE DEATH OF A LITTLE GIRL. loi 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF A LITTLE 
GIRL. 

Where, oli where is Lillie gone — 
That dear Uttle form we miss; 

Joyously no more she'll run, 
To salute us with a kiss. 

Brightly beamed our LiUie's eyes, 
Dimpled were her cheeks and fair, 

Brows an angel well might prize, 
Shaded by her beauteous hair. 

Kind and gentle was her heart ; 

Souls like her's to earth are given, 
In this world to take no part, 

But to point the road to Heaven, 

Softly, calmly, LiUie rests. 
In the peaceful silent grave ; 

Pain or sorrow ne'er molests. 
In that rest which Heaven gave. 



102 POEMS. 

Brightly now above the skies, 
In angel form our Lillie moves ; 

Or a guardian angel flies, 

Hovering over those she loves. 

Could we wish her back again — 
Selfish and unkind the thought — 

To this world of grief and pain, 
From the rest her spirit sought ? 



LINES TO A LADY. 103 



LINES TO A LADY. 

Esteemed and much respected friend, 

I, at thy kind request, 
This poor poetic sample send, 

My homage to attest. 

When sued by thy resistless smile, 
My heart at once complies ; 

Although my head distrusts the while 
My power to poetize. 

Without a living spring the stream 
Would quickly waste and dry ; 

Nor can I sing without a theme — 
I fear 'twere vain to try. 

Oh, could I for a topic take, 

Thy self, dear lady fair. 
Inspired, my soul might soon awake 

And soar in middle air. 



104 POEMS. 

Decoy the muse while fancy tours, 

With such a glowing theme ; 
By babbling brooks through beds of flowers, 

In free poetic dream. 

Reflected in the limpid streams, 

The azure sky we view, 
Fair emblem of the mind that beams 

From thy bright eyes of blue. 

The flowers that deck the landscape o'er. 
Make Nature's face look bright ; 

The starry heavens display the power. 
Of Nature's God by night. 

But woman's smiles all else excel, 

More radiant light impart ; 
For they our mental clouds dispel. 

Make bright the human heart. 

But for her smiles our path through life. 
Were dreary, rough and dark ; 



LINES TO A LADY. 105 

Bestrewed with thorns, with brambles rife, 
With naught our course to mark, 

In vain for us the sun would shine, 

No ray would reach us here ; 
In vain Creation's great design, 

In vain this roUing sphere. 

All earth were beautified in vain, 

In vain all blessings given ; 
We would not, could not here remain, 

With no foretaste of Heaven. , 



I06 POEMS. 



A RETROSPECT. 

How soon, Oh, how soon, life's meridian is past, 
And the sun of my morning far westward 
is tending. 
Hitherto the horizon seemed boundless and vast, 
Now the light on its edge with pale shadows is 
blending. 

How I sped with youth's vigor up life's gentle 
slope. 
While its greenest fields ever lay smiling be- 
fore me ; 
How my footsteps were guided and quickened by 
hope ; 
When I wearied, her whispers sufficed to re- 
store me. 

Thus intent on the future life's summit I crossed. 
Unaware of the progress I onward was mak- 
ing. 



A RETROSPECT. iqj 

Till I felt the descent and the fore-view was lost, 
And it seemed as if I from a dream were awak- 



From the dim view before me I turn to the past, 
On the pinions of memory backward I wander. 

And the retrospect ushers in scenes that will cast 
A soft halo, around the old path that lies yon- 
der. 

On the home of my childhood I first turn my 
gaze. 
On a father and mother both loving and ten- 
der ; 
Though the distance envelopes the view in a 
haze, 
How the principles shine which they strove to 
engender. 

And my childhood's companions where, where 
are they now ? 
Where my sisters and brothers, the loved and 
the cherished, 



I08 POEMS, 

Like the thistle-down blown from the parent 
stalks' brow 
All are scattered ; some flourish ; and some 
alas, perished! 

To my schoolmates I turn, the warm friends of 
my youth, — 
Should I meet them now why should I fmd 
them estranged ? 
Though still representing both honor and truth, 
They are not the same boys, they are changed ; 
I am changed. 

But the firmest of friendships, the friendship that 
lasts. 
Early manhood's strong ties that mere trifles 
can't sever. 
Like the ash that is bent by old Winter's rude 
blasts, 
From the pressure uprises more potent than 
ever. 



A RETROSPECT. IO9 

Yet our intercourse here with the truest of 
friends, 
Oh, how often too short, unavoidably broken ; 
Side by side run our paths till the parallel ends ; 
All too soon they diverge, and the Farewell is 
spoken. 

But the friends of the morning and life's sunny 
noon. 
Oh, who can replace when the night is ap- 
proaching, 
Draw the life-giving warmth from the cold 

pallid moon, 
Or retain the daylight, with the darkness en- 
croaching. 

How the flower in its beauty and freshness of 

bloom 
Is adored, and how eagerly gathered with rap- 
ture. 
But the rose that is withered and drooping in 

gloom, 
No hand is put forth to caress or to capture. 



no POEMS. 

As I pause in the calm of my life's afternoon, 
And look back o'er the path for the scenes most 
enchanting-, 
I can see where companionless wandering, 1 soon 
Found that solitude's spirit, my footsteps was 
haunting. 

1 can see the oasis in life, where I found 

The true friend whose devotion environed me 
ever. 
Whose lieart to mv own in kjve's fetters was 
bound, 
So securely that nothing on earth could dis- 
sever. 

On the journev of life where slie walked by my 
side. 
In the gloomiest days she foresaw ;i l)right 
morrow, 
Ever patient, endunng whate'er might betide, 
While mv joy was her joy, and my sorrow her 
sorrow. 



A RESTROSPECT, m 

Even now as we go hand in hand down the hill, 
Although weary our feet, I could wish the road 
longer, 
For the love of our youth is our guiding star 
still, 
With its light growing brighter, and purer and 
stronger. 



